


The Erotic Charge Of A Simple 'Please'

by Shut_Up_Marius



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Somewhat Resolved Romantic Tension, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shut_Up_Marius/pseuds/Shut_Up_Marius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You never touch me."</p><p>Grantaire's head whips to the right so fast his neck cracks.</p><p>"I- Wha- Pardon?"</p><p>Enjolras, fierce as ever, beautiful in his red leather jacket and his black skinny jeans, is standing there and... he can't possibly have uttered those words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Erotic Charge Of A Simple 'Please'

"You never touch me."

Grantaire's head whips to the right so fast his neck cracks.

"I- Wha- Pardon?"

Enjolras, fierce as ever, beautiful in his red leather jacket and his black skinny jeans, is standing there and... he can't possibly have uttered those words.

The only logical explanation is that Grantaire has finally lost it. Here he is, in the semi-darkness of the Musain's upstairs room, only a table and some chairs between them. Grantaire can't believe he's heard right, but Enjolras just folds his arms across his chest and gives him a defiant look. 

"I want to know why you won't touch me. All the others get claps on the back, fist bumps, hugs, hell you even arm-wrestle with some of them. Me? I don't get so much as a handshake."

"Do you only notice this now?" Enjolras is right, but Grantaire is reluctant to explain exactly why he's always refrained from touching the other man.

"As a matter of fact, no. It's been a while, and I've tried provoking you into it but it hasn't worked."

"You've tried provoking me into physical contact?"

Grantaire knows he sounds incredulous, but it's only because this comes from so far out of left field, it feels like it's not really happening. Again, Enjolras can't possibly be saying those words to him. 

The Musain is empty, today's meeting adjourned until the next. Grantaire had agreed to stay and close it up since the manager has known Les Amis long enough to trust them with a set of keys. He hadn't expected Enjolras to say he'd stay and help. Help with what, exactly? Putting a dozen chairs on tables? Turn off the lights? But Grantaire had just shrugged: he was happy to spend a few minutes on a silent tête-à-tête with his marble god. He won't fool himself, though: Enjolras hasn't stayed because he wanted to spend some quality time with him; he's probably here out of some misplaced sense of duty.

Except apparently he isn't, and Grantaire is mystified. He digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands but the pain doesn't magically wake him up from the most bizarre dream. This is reality. This is baffling.

"Enjolras, are you sure you're quite all right?"

"No, Grantaire, of course I'm not all right," Enjolras grunts, frustrated. "Haven't you heard what I just said?"

"I have, and it makes you sound cuckoo, that's why I'm asking. You barely tolerate me, why on earth would you want me to touch you?"

"Well, I, uh..." Enjolras sputters, and it's hilarious. "Equality, for one thing!"

"Equality? With our friends? What, do you want to arm-wrestle?" Grantaire chuckles.

This is ridiculous and it makes no sense whatsoever so, until Enjolras comes back to his senses, Grantaire might as well have a little fun. If he's honest with himself, it's that or listening to the sound of his own heart break, because this is painful. Like a mentally healthy Enjolras would ever wish for Grantaire's touch. If he weren't so intent on keeping himself from falling apart, he'd be worried about Enjolras.

The blonde man groans, honest-to-God stomps his foot on the floor and throws his arms in the air. "Of course I don't want to fucking arm-wrestle. You're so frustrating."

"Okay, then you're going to have to spell it out for me because I don't understand what you're going on about."

He sounds so reasonable, he's impressed. This is probably the exact tone his friends use when he reaches the "unbearable drunk" phase of intoxication. He's sure Enjolras isn't drunk because he would've noticed if he'd ordered anything but water. The gorgeous blonde never drinks during meetings. 

"I told you: I want you to touch me."

"In the name of equality."

"... Yes."

"Enjolras, seriously..." Grantaire sighs, deflating.

Okay, it was fun for a while but now he's getting tired of the charade. It can't possibly be an elaborate prank from his friends: it's in poor taste and this isn't their style. They all know of his feelings for Enjolras, at least half of them have suffered through silly drunk tirades about his eyes or his hair or his voice. They do tease him afterwards but it's always gentle and ends with a kiss to his forehead because they know Enjolras can be a touchy subject. 

What's the alternative, though? Enjolras really wants to touch Grantaire? Please. Grantaire is lucid, he knows what he looks like. Appearance-wise, there isn't so much a gap as there's a freaking canyon between him and Enjolras. He'd think the stunning perfection of the man's traits was unfair if he weren't so infatuated with him. The reverse can never be true, though. Enjolras barely glances at people who try and flirt with him, he'd never have time for someone as deeply flawed as Grantaire.

The only physical feature they share is their height. Grantaire's hair is as dark as Enjolras' is fair. His eyes are this weird brown colour that can border on muddy green in the right light, he's got quite a few acne scars on his face and his bushy eyebrows make him look more brooding than he'd like. Where Enjolras' body comes straight out of a book about Ancient Greece, he's stout and hairy as a freaking werewolf.

There's no way Enjolras could ever want him.

"I am serious, Grantaire."

"This stopped being funny about three minutes ago, stop it," he grumbles as he resumes stacking chairs.

"I'm not trying to be funny!" Enjolras exclaims, angry. "Could you look at me while I talk to you? It's basic politeness."

Grantaire sighs again and lets the chair he's holding fall back to the floor. The loud clatter is very satisfying. There, Enjolras has done it, Grantaire is angry, too. He turns towards him and schools his face into a mask of indifference. Better that than the soul-crushing insecurity he's feeling right now. Enjolras still hasn't moved from the spot he was in when he started losing his mind.

"I'm sorry. What can I do for you, Enjolras?"

"Answer my question."

"What was it again?"

"Why won't you touch me?" he bites out.

"Does it really bother you that much?"

"You're still not answering the question!"

"You're not answering mine either!"

"I asked first."

"Oh, real mature, Enjolras," Grantaire slow-claps a couple of times. 

Enjolras growls and closes his hands into fists before he takes a deep breath and obviously wills himself to relax. Grantaire has dealt with an upset Enjolras before and it's nothing he can't handle. What confuses him is the self-control Enjolras is exerting to keep himself from exploding in Grantaire's face. He doesn't usually bother.

"Is it me? Have I done something? Am I that insufferable or are you, I don't know, allergic to my level of activism? Is there something about me that is so repulsive you'd rather not touch me?"

"Are you serious right now?" Grantaire's mouth hangs open.

"Stop asking me that! What am I supposed to think when you hug everyone but me? Even Feuilly who shoves you off every time, but not me. Never me. What's so revolting about me?" Enjolras asks as he runs a hand through his blonde locks.

"I'm trying really hard to be patient but I'm a hairsbreadth away from losing my cool, just so you know. Do you get off on doing this?"

"Just tell me why you won't touch me and I'll leave, for fuck's sake!" Enjolras snaps and shouts.

Grantaire is up in Enjolras' space in a flash. The blonde startles and stumbles back but Grantaire follows and he squeaks when his back hits the wall, making the artwork above him rattle. Grantaire doesn't back off. He's angry, hurt, and a little bit aroused by all this talk of touching Enjolras. Not the best combination if you're aiming to end a conversation on a rational note. 

Grantaire's face is so close to Enjolras' that he can feel his breath on his face, can feel the heat his body gives off. They're not touching, but the air is crackling between them. Also, Enjolras smells fantastic and Grantaire wants to bury his face in the crook of his neck and just breathe him in. Instead, he puts a hand above Enjolras' head to brace himself. He expects Enjolras to shove him off of him or punch him but it doesn't happen.

"You want me to touch you, yeah?" he says, his voice probably warped enough to reveal exactly how aroused he is, but Enjolras has gone too far.

"Yes," he exhales on a breathless whisper. His back is ramrod straight against the wall, his arms stuck to his side.

"For equality," Grantaire smirks. Enjolras screws his eyes shut tight and Grantaire hears him swallow hard.

"Yes."

"Where?" When Enjolras stays silent, Grantaire presses on. "Where, Enjolras?"

"I don't know, anywhere?" 

"Are you sure? That's a whole lot of freedom you're giving me here, I could get creative."

"Mmh," Enjolras acquiesces, incapable of words, and this gives Grantaire some pause.

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want me to beg?" There's the ferocious beauty Grantaire loves.

There's a deafening silence after that, then Enjolras heaves a trembling sigh. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown so wide that the blue Grantaire adores is but a ring around a pool of black. The raw desire he sees makes his brain short-circuit and every hope to rationally talk this out fly out the window.

He raises his free hand and slowly, hesitantly brushes the tip of his fingers on Enjolras' cheek. The angel's eyes flutter closed and Grantaire swears he can see his body quiver. He's shaking, too: he's never felt any part of Enjolras before. Grantaire lets himself caress the perfect skin as Enjolras leans into the touch. He imagines it feels like touching a masterpiece you're only supposed to look at: thrilling because it's forbidden. Enjolras is so beautiful, touching him shouldn't be allowed. 

Grantaire continues his exploration, going from Enjolras' cheek to his neck, where he can feel his pulse hammering out a crazy beat. He goes lower to his collarbone, slips under the leather jacket and pushes it out of the way a little. Enjolras takes a shaky breath in when Grantaire's fingers graze a nipple then lets it out when he moves on to his stomach then his side, his thumb hypnotically going back and forth on his thin black shirt. Neither can talk, now; the only sound is that of both their heavy breathing. 

"Grantaire... Grantaire..." Enjolras stammers, his voice a hoarse plea.

So Grantaire leans in and kisses him. There's an explosion behind his eyelids and inside his chest. Every last one of his nerve endings seems to catch fire as Enjolras' lips meet his, soft and demanding. Grantaire sucks on Enjolras' lower lip, makes him whine, encourages him to take more, give more. His hand on Enjolras' hip is gripping him tighter and he finally uses his other hand to sink into the blonde curls he's never touched before. Their softness barely registers. Instead, Grantaire grabs a fistful and uses his hold on Enjolras to pull him harder into the kiss. 

Grantaire has to admit he'd given some thought to how sexually experienced Enjolras could be. The man had never expressed interest in anyone before but then again, Grantaire hasn't known him his whole life. Considering how well he is handling Grantaire's enthusiasm right now, it's clear Enjolras has done this before.

The second Grantaire teases Enjolras' upper lip with the tip of his tongue, his eagerness redoubles and he opens his mouth to meet his tongue halfway. His body jerks away from the wall, arching into Grantaire who all but melts into him. Enjolras is now trapped between the wall and a whole lot of Grantaire but he doesn't seem to mind, judging from the way he starts rocking against him. The only thing is, his arms are still stuck by his side, so Grantaire takes a leap of faith and tears himself away from him.

"Touch me now, Enjolras," he pants into his mouth. 

Enjolras obeys the command at once and his arms fly, one around Grantaire's waist, the other into his dark hair. Their foreheads bump together and it hurts but it doesn't matter because Enjolras is fucking perfect and why hasn't he touched him before. He explores Grantaire's body, less reverent than Grantaire but it's fine, he wouldn't expect anything but fierceness from his avenging god of beauty. He holds his breath when Enjolras' hands travel across his imperfections, his plump stomach, the slight buoy around his waist, but Enjolras just strokes his side and doesn't seem to care. Grantaire is glad he can overlook this.

Then they're back to kissing and pouring everything into this. It's clashing teeth and biting lips and fighting for dominance; it perfectly sums up their relationship except it feels so fucking good Grantaire is now half hard. Half hard from kissing, like a teenager. Enjolras, though, Enjolras is fully hard and rutting against him so he doesn't feel too foolish. The need to breathe wins in the end and Grantaire pulls away to nip his way down the blonde's throat. Enjolras moans when he pulls his hair to the side and sinks his teeth into the chord of muscle below his ear.

"Feeling equal yet?" Grantaire murmurs against his skin.

"Shut up," Enjolras scolds him, fingernails clawing at the nape of his neck. Grantaire hisses.

"Do you want to stop here, Enjolras?" he asks, kissing everywhere he can. "Because I wasn't kidding: if you don't stop me, I've got a lot of ideas."

"Don't stop, please."

"Okay." Kiss. "Okay." Kiss. "Jesus Christ, okay. This wasn't what I thought I'd get out of tonight's meeting but I'll take it. I'll take it gladly."

"Grantaire, why aren't you kissing me right now?" A shiver runs down Grantaire's spine at the way Enjolras whines his name.

"Fair enough."

Grantaire all but assaults Enjolras' mouth with his and the blonde responds in kind. They're done wasting time here. Grantaire slips both hands under the lapels of Enjolras' jacket and wrestles with the sleeves for a bit, still joined at the mouth and reluctant to pull away. When it becomes obvious they're not getting anywhere, Enjolras shrugs off the offending garment. Grantaire takes advantage of the pause to get rid of his own hoodie.

He throws his arms around Enjolras' waist and sneaks both hands under his shirt because he wants more skin, more Enjolras, all of him. Enjolras paws at his shirt, gripping and tugging at the fabric and Grantaire gets it, he does, but he's not ready to be shirtless in front of this paragon of perfection, even in semi-darkness, so he decides to distract him and slips a hand down between Enjolras' legs. 

The blonde lets out a high moan the second Grantaire starts rubbing his clothed erection and jerks forward. Grantaire keeps on sucking and blowing cool air on Enjolras' neck and, soon enough, the blonde is a shivering mess in his arms. Grantaire has never felt so powerful in his life.

"You're so perfect, fuck, Enjolras. The things I want to do to you. Will you let me? Will you let me keep on touching you?"

The only answer he gets is a litany of desperate 'please's breathed against his ear. Then Enjolras looks down between them to stare at Grantaire's hand on him, rolling his hips to rock into it as best as he can. Grantaire swears Enjolras lets out a sob when he finally frees his cock from the confines of his jeans. His breath hitches when he realises Enjolras isn't wearing underwear, but he recovers quickly. He has to help Enjolras slide his jeans down his legs. They don't bother going below his knees; he's a man on a mission, here.

Enjolras gives a sharp cry when Grantaire's hand first touches his cock. It's the most rewarding sound in the world. In all his fantasies, he'd never imagined Enjolras would be a vocal lover, but there he is, his voice several octaves higher than usual, giving strained little moans, his forehead resting on Grantaire's shoulder as he keeps a bruising hold on his hips.

Grantaire concentrates on Enjolras' beautiful cock, its weight in his hand, the velvety feel of the taut skin. He alternates between sharp, firm pumps and appreciative strokes before dipping lower to fondle the sensitive spot behind Enjolras' ballsack, making him arch against his hand. The blonde man looks divine, lost in a haze of passion.

"Is this what you had in mind? Am I touching you right?"

"Don't stop." Enjolras' words are slurred and he raises his head to gently bite at Grantaire's earlobe. 

Grantaire is definitely hard, now, and he's grateful when Enjolras gets to unzipping his jeans. They aren't as tight and don't require as much work to get them down to his knees. It's not comfortable, but it'll do. This is urgency, not sweet lovemaking. He shoves his boxers down as well and nearly headbutts Enjolras in his haste to stand back up.

Grantaire gasps and has to brace both hands on the wall behind Enjolras when he takes him in hand for the first time. He understands why the blonde was watching him jerk him off: the sight is almost erotic enough to push him over the edge. That would be way more embarrassing than getting hard from a kiss. Grantaire doesn't look away, though. Enjolras could be satisfied with only tonight and then never want Grantaire to touch him again. No, he needs to remember every last thing, so he stares at Enjolras' graceful fingers as they curl around his cock, causing drop after drop of precome to leak out. Enjolras is going up and down and giving a twist of his wrist when he gets to the head and Grantaire can feel himself come undone.

On a sudden impulse, he wrenches himself away, clumsily turns around towards a table and pushes to the floor all the chairs he'd stacked on it earlier. It makes a terrible ruckus but before Enjolras can start complaining like he knows he could ("Grantaire, the manager trusts us with his furniture!"), he's grabbed his lover by the front of his shirt and manhandled him so he's sitting on the edge of the table. It's a miracle neither of them trips over their jeans.

Speaking of which, for what Grantaire has in mind, he needs to get between Enjolras' legs and his pants are a hindrance. He bends down, rips off one of Enjolras' shoes then savagely tugs at one pant leg until it comes off. Enjolras yelps and has to grip the sides of the table so he doesn't fall off. Why isn't real life like in the movies, where everything is graceful and natural?

Grantaire grins at Enjolras when he stands back up. He shuffles between his legs until they securely cradle him then gathers both their cocks in his right hand. He strokes them the best he can and Enjolras, bless him, brings in his own right hand to help and they start stroking each other in sync. Feeling Enjolras' fingertips graze his as they pump at their cocks might be the most sensual experience of Grantaire's life.

He's having the most unbelievable evening. Is this a parallel universe where he gets everything he's always desired? All he knows is that for some unfathomable reason, Enjolras wants him. He enjoys having his hands on him, and he's making Enjolras feel great and he could literally die after tonight because no other experience will ever top this: his lips on Enjolras' skin, the feverish warmth between them, the feel of his cock sliding against his.

"Grantaire?" His name comes out of Enjolras' mouth in a shallow breath.

"Yes?"

"Show me another of your ideas, please."

Grantaire has to admit: hearing Enjolras say 'please' is beyond exciting. He feels like his very core is vibrating from the word and he wants nothing more than to indulge him. The way he's looking at him, like his pleasure borders on painful, he shares this exact same feeling. But there's something more in Enjolras' eyes: expectation? Hope?

"Did you have something in mind, Enjolras?" 

"Yes," he moans as his hips jerk of their own accord.

"Tell me," he whispers, incapable of more when Enjolras is biting his lower lip, his cheeks flushed a gorgeous, violent pink.

"I want- ah! I want-"

Enjolras can't seem to get it out. Grantaire doesn't mind because frustration is making Enjolras fist his hands into his hair. Pull. Let go. Pull. Let go. It feels fantastic. Grantaire rewards Enjolras with a harder pull on his cock but, despite his answering moan, he puts his hand on top of Grantaire's to stop him, which successfully brings his attention back to Enjolras' eyes.

"Fuck me."

"Jesus Christ."

Grantaire is so glad Enjolras isn't actively jerking him off at the moment because if he were, it's safe to assume he would have come right then and there. He has dozens of things he wants to do to Enjolras, but he's never dreamt of jumping to penetrative sex right away. He'd never even entertained the idea that Enjolras could ever want that from him, actually.

Yet here he is, his thumb caressing Enjolras' neck, now covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and Enjolras has just asked him to fuck him.

"We can't."

"What? _Why?!_ "

For fuck's sake, did he really just say no to sex with Enjolras? Grantaire can't believe it and obviously, Enjolras can't either. Before he's got the chance to pull away, Grantaire tightens his hold on him.

"I don't have a condom. Do you?" The silence is answer enough, so he continues. "And even if you did, I'm not doing this without lube. I don't want to hurt you. I want you to enjoy this."

"Shit," Enjolras' voice cracks.

"I know," he says before he nuzzles his cheek with the tip of his nose. "I do want to get inside you. God knows nothing would make me happier than feeling you around me and watching you fall apart while you sob my name."

" _Shit._ " This time he sounds utterly shattered.

"Because you would, wouldn't you? You'd probably cry for me, you want this so bad. How long have you wanted this, my hands on you, my cock inside you? You're so hot, so desperate. Look at you, Enjolras, you can't even keep from rutting against me like an animal. I could watch you do this for hours, you're so beautiful."

Enjolras is now alternating between panting against his neck and making these needy little sounds that officially drive Grantaire crazy. Grantaire lets him rock against his cock and occasionally pumps his hand up and down, disappointed that he can't give him more than this. But there's just no way he's using olive oil or whatever the kitchen stores that could replace lube: he doesn't want his first and maybe only time with Enjolras to feel like he's fucking an Italian dish.

On the other hand, the blonde man seems so touch-starved (which can't possibly be true, their friends do touch him) that he itches to do something for him. So Grantaire loosens his hold on him and takes a step back. Enjolras mewls his displeasure.

"Okay, turn around." 

"Are you going to...?" Enjolras looks at him, eyes wide open with hope.

"No. No, I stand by what I said. If you let me, I promise I'll make it good for you, but not tonight."

"Then what-"

"Turn around, Enjolras. Trust me."

Grantaire's not sure Enjolras trusts him, but penetrative sex is pretty much the most invasive thing he could do to him right now, so he does stand up from the table. He's still wearing his shirt, his jeans are comically hanging from one of his knees and he's wearing the one sock on his otherwise bare leg. No, spontaneous sex isn't very glamourous, but Grantaire wouldn't trade this moment for the world.

Enjolras steps into Grantaire's space again and Grantaire welcomes him back with open arms. He kisses his jaw a few seconds, just because he can, then he gently guides his lover until he is facing the table. Enjolras is pliable beneath his hands and offers no resistance when Grantaire pushes him down to his elbows. However, when he spreads his legs, Grantaire is quick to correct him.

"No, close your legs."

Enjolras doesn't answer, which proves just how out of it he is. Enjolras usually questions everything, in particular Grantaire's motives, but this time he doesn't say a thing. It's... almost like he trusts him, really.

Grantaire takes a minute to admire Enjolras' backside. He knew he had an amazing ass. While drunk, he's sung veritable odes about it to his friends. To have Enjolras' firm, muscular bubble butt in front of him, to be able to contemplate the creamy flesh, is another experience entirely. He puts his hands on the cheeks and fondles them a moment, then rakes his nails across them just to see the red marks he leaves behind afterwards, happy when Enjolras hisses and moans from the contact.

"You're so fucking gorgeous."

"Grantaire, please," he wails.

"You keep on saying that."

" _Please._ "

More turned on than ever, hoping he won't come too soon, Grantaire gets into position behind Enjolras. He pulls him back against him by the top of his thighs, the first contact sending a shock of electricity down his spine, then slicks up with cock with the precome that's been dripping down his slit. Grantaire's never been more thankful for his body's little idiosyncrasies.

The first slide between Enjolras' powerful thighs is a test. When the blonde man only brings his legs together tighter, Grantaire knows he's done something right. It takes a couple more thrusts to get the angle just right, the head of his cock grazing Enjolras' hole then his perineum to finally bump against his balls. It's heaven and it's torture. Judging from the strained whimpers being teared out of him, muffled as they may be by the way he's biting his own arm, Enjolras agrees.

Grantaire puts in a lot of effort to make this good for Enjolras, an engineer of his pleasure. He doesn't think he's ever put as much effort into sex before, has never been as attuned to his partner's needs and as neglectful of his own. He learns that the higher the sounds he makes, the more Enjolras is enjoying himself. It's not nearly enough, he wants to give Enjolras everything and, tightening the hold he has on his lover, Grantaire hopes against hope there will be a next time so he can do just that.

When Enjolras' pleasure starts making him limp, his thighs' grip loosening, his cheek laying against the cool surface of the table, Grantaire lets go of one of his thighs and reaches around to his cock. Enjolras cries out and, for a second, Grantaire thinks he may have orgasmed, but he starts thrusting into his hand, still hard. Grantaires gathers some precome from the perfectly rounded head of Enjolras' cock to make this more comfortable for him and starts jerking him off, learning his more sensitive spots. Enjolras likes a firm grip, and when Grantaire thumbs his slit on the upstroke. 

"Grantaire?" Enjolras gasps, his voice gruff.

"What is it?" he pants right back, quickly approaching climax now.

"I need more," he all but sobs.

"You'll be the death of me, Enjolras."

The blonde man's head drops back to the table, his hips snapping sharper into Grantaire's hand. He wonders how to satisfy his lover when he feels his hand wrap around his, tightening his hold on him. It must be borderline painful now, but Enjolras knows what he needs better than Grantaire so he fights the urge to outright withdraw and thanks whatever deity there is for the slickness of precome that's making this possible.

And then he's got an idea. He stops moving between Enjolras' thighs, which gains him a confused 'what?' and uses the hand that still holds onto a powerful thigh to collect a few drops of the clear liquid at the top of Enjolras' cock. He plants an adoring kiss on Enjolras' spine then he leans back a little and brings a finger to smear it around Enjolras' hole. Enjolras draws a sharp breath in and releases it on the most exquisite, drawn-out moan Grantaire has ever heard. He keeps on caressing the puckered skin and resumes thrusting between Enjolras' thighs and jerking him off. Grantaire's in sensory overload right now, there's no way he could do all this in sync, but God does he try.

Enjolras doesn't seem to care, he just pushes against Grantaire, into his fist, against his cock and his finger. When Grantaire finally, finally breaches him, it's no effort at all, Enjolras is so ready. Enjolras makes Grantaire grip his cock tighter still and now Grantaire's certain it must hurt, but only a few more thrusts and Enjolras is coming, the powerful sensation throwing his body forward. Grantaire follows and keeps stroking him until his lover collaspses against the table, exhausted.

Grantaire's cock slips from in between Enjolras' thighs, his finger from his ass, and he's left hard as a rock, on the verge of an amazing orgasm. He wonders if he should just pull his pants back up and go home. Make sure Enjolras is okay, finish closing up and leave. Enjolras wanted him to touch him, now he has, end of story. It takes all but ten heartbeats for him to come to the conclusion that he's not wanted anymore and he should cut his losses now, while Enjolras still looks too vulnerable to utter a cruel dismissal.

It's also the time it takes for Enjolras to recover from his epic orgasm. Just as Grantaire starts bending down to grab his boxers, Enjolras stands back up and turns around. He's still panting and his eyes are still black with desire. He pushes away from the table until he's crowding Grantaire and pushing him against the wall, hands on his pectorals, their positions from earlier now reversed. Grantaire feels the warmth through his shirt, branding him.

As soon as his back hits the wall, Enjolras kisses Grantaire passionately, all drugging sweeps of tongue and playful nips, holding him by the hair. Grantaire dissolves into the kiss and grasps Enjolras' bare hips, brings him closer, clings onto what he knows is the last couple of minutes of friction he'll get. Possibly forever. He rocks against his angel, feeling unworthy now he's fulfilled Enjolras' wish, but unable to stop all the same.

And when Enjolras' fingers curl around his cock again, it only takes a handful of lazy strokes to finish him. He rides the tidal wave of his orgasm, and when he comes to, he's ashamed to see he's twitching all over, delightful aftershocks going through his body as Enjolras mouths at his throat, still holding his softening cock. He can't help it, though. It was the best sex (or non-sex, whatever) he's ever had. Because it was Enjolras, obviously.

Grantaire's mind is all fogged up with the tons of endorphins that were just released in his body, but fear and doubt and anxiety are already on the periphery, waiting to return in full force. He wishes he could enjoy this for a few minutes longer, but when Enjolras pushes away from him, Grantaire knows it's over. He feels very naked without the cover of Enjolras' body, even though he's technically wearing more clothes than the blonde man.

"So, this is awkward." Sometimes, Grantaire wishes he'd been born mute. "I mean, what was that about? Not equality, that's for sure."

Enjolras doesn't answer. Instead, he clears his throat and looks down, ill-at-ease. Oh. So this isn't going to be a happy post-coïtal conversation. Grantaire gets the hint and they get dressed in silence, clean themselves as best as they can, grabbing some napkins from a table nearby. They don't look at each other. There's a moment where they have to search for Enjolras' shoe that Grantaire threw away in the throes of passion, and the hunt-and-seek would be hilarious if they didn't feel so uncomfortable. Grantaire feels like running.

"I've got it," Enjolras hollers from downstairs. "You threw it off the balcony," he supplies when he comes back up.

"Sorry," Grantaire mumbles as he starts restacking the chairs he'd pushed off the table earlier.

"It's alright. So, I suppose you don't actually find me repulsive."

Grantaire is exhausted, both physically and mentally. His shoulders slump and he hangs his head. Why bother lying now? Enjolras isn't stupid. He looks down and starts fiddling with his hoodie zipper: he can't bear looking at Enjolras' blue eyes and seeing the disappointment in them when he actually puts words on what just happened.

"I basically spent the last half hour showing you just how attractive you are. I'm fairly sure I used about a dozen synonyms of the word while we were..." he trails off, not knowing what to call it.

"Some people get carried away and say stuff they don't mean when they have sex." Enjolras isn't afraid to call a spade a spade.

"Well, I don't, okay? I meant every word."

"Every word?" Enjolras repeats, his blue eyes flashing as he stares at Grantaire.

"Yes, Enjolras, every word." 

Is that lead in his stomach? Where is that feeling of elation he had when he was touching Enjolras earlier, Grantaire wants it back. He feels like he's free falling and he can see the ground get closer by the second and he knows the impact will kill him but there's nothing he can do. Grantaire expects a volley of protestations, a rebuttal and a rejection, but Enjolras stays unnervingly silent. He can feel his piercing eyes on him and his heart is hammering against his ribcage.

"You still haven't answered my question, you know," Enjolras says after a while. "Why had you never touched me?"

"I have an addictive personality. I tend to latch onto the things I love the most... But you can't get addicted to something you've never tried. And besides, I didn't think you'd appreciate someone like me putting his hands on you."

"Someone like you? Someone intelligent, cultured, funny and kind? What a terrible burden, indeed."

Enjolras doesn't mean that. He can't. It steals Grantaire's breath away, a little, that he could think that about him. If he could take a compliment, he'd be extremely flattered, but since he can't, he feels tears sting behind his eyes at what is obviously a blatant lie. He's not all these things. He knows what he is.

"Someone brash, purposedly disruptive, lazy and ugly."

"Grantaire, I've been trying to get you to touch me for the past three months," Enjolras chuckles humourlessly.

"It doesn't make any sense."

"Attraction rarely does," Enjolras deadpans, his voice uncertain. Grantaire raises his eyes to his.

"You can't be attracted to me."

"Oh, really? That's too bad. I practically threw myself at you earlier so it's safe to say I _am_ attracted to you, don't you think?"

Sassy Enjolras is sexy as hell and Grantaire feels a bolt of lust go through him. He rubs a palm across his face, hoping to clear his head.

"What do you want from me, Enjolras?"

"What are you willing to give?" he counters with a raised eyebrow.

"Everything," he exhales softly.

He can't take it back. He won't. But waiting for Enjolras' reaction is agonizing. It's like he's still free falling but, instead of the clear, instant liberation of the impact, the ground beneath Grantaire just opened up and now he's falling through the many circles of Hell. 

"You'd touch me again, then?" Enjolras' smile is blinding. And confusing. "That's good."

"Is it?"

"Yes. But since you know I'm a firm believer in equality, you've got to be prepared for me to give you everything as well."

"It's not funny," Grantaire says, voice breaking.

"I'm not trying to be funny," Enjolras replies, the smile sliding off his face. "I mean it, Grantaire: I've liked you for a while now, and it killed me because I believed you throught I wasn't good enough, disgusting or something, and that's why you didn't want to touch me-"

"God, Enjolras, no, never-" Grantaire is appalled.

"I know that, now," he smiles again, tentatively. "But imagine what it was like."

"Oh, and imagine what it was like, refraining from touching you when you were within arms reach all this time: your perfect hair, your smooth skin, your beautiful eyes... Even now you're a temptation. I can actually feel the tips of my fingers tingle, I want to touch you so bad. So don't for a second think you had it worse than me."

"This isn't a competition. And hey," Enjolras adds, a bit winded, "I would love for you to keep on touching me."

"Enjolras, you have no idea what you're saying."

But Enjolras steps closer, his jaw set, a determined glint in his eyes, until he's standing right in front of Grantaire. They're not touching but Enjolras raises a hand to Grantaire's face, hovering just above his cheek.

"Can I?" he asks softly.

"Jesus. You don't have to ask." Grantaire sounds rough even to his own ears but he can't quite help it, what with Enjolras standing so close.

Enjolras smiles again, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth, which just isn't fair with the litres of coffee he drink every day. But Grantaire's breath hitch all the same because Enjolras smiling at you is like being allowed a glimpse into Heaven. And when Enjolras' hesitant fingers finally graze the skin of his cheek, and when his entire palm cradles the side of his face, Grantaire releases the breath he'd been holding in, persuaded that the blonde man must be an angel.

Grantaire can't help it, he puts his hand on top of Enjolras', savouring the divine sensation. As if he'd been waiting for this cue, Enjolras takes the final step that gets him into Grantaire's space and embraces him gently. They stand like this, Enjolras' hand on his hip and his lips on his shoulder while he just leans his head against Enjolras', brown and blonde hair tangling together. It's lovely. He can't believe it's happening.

"Can we stay like this for a while?" Enjolras whispers.

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fairly short but then it turned into this monster.  
> I've never before written anything remotely sexual. That's why this fic is not the hottest thing ever.


End file.
